Die By The Sword
Sean McGuire
Copyright 2011 by Sean McGuire
Smashwords Edition
Smashwords Edition, License Notes
Thank you for downloading this free ebook. You are welcome to share it with your friends. This book may be reproduced, copied and distributed for non-commercial purposes, provided the book remains in its complete original form. If you enjoyed this book, please return to Smashwords.com to discover other works by this author. Thank you for your support.
His mother would scoop him up in her arms and whisper the same words every night. Always the same words. It was an old song she sung. On the wings of her sweet voice, it entered his innermost being, while his wide eyes sparkled. It never left until the day he died.
You always shall endure
When all your foes they come
Hold fast to strength and wrath
And victory is yours
Hold fast, hold fast, my son
Though giants do close in
The gods will see and cheer
When you die by the sword
***
Forty years later, a prison gate opened. A scrawny figure in rags walked out with dignity. It would have made the three soldiers idling nearby gaze with awe, if it wasn’t for a comical limp. The guard behind him smirked, and shoved him all the way into the sunlight. Light ran down the many cracks on the man’s face. A shadow of a smile stole on his face. Forward he limped with energy, and purpose.
“You have returned,” said another man, waiting outside of the gate, at the head of a silent crowd.
“At long last,” said the ex-prisoner, as the rest watched.
“We have water for a bath,” cried a woman, “And real clothes we can give you. Come!”
The crowd swelled and followed the ex-prisoner to a cottage in the middle of town.
“What is that, Mama?” asked a child fearfully, staring at the scarred figure.
“Show respect, child!” ordered her mother, “This is Torthan, the man who fought for our nation’s freedom!”
Forty minutes later, Torthan was eating the best food, and the first unstolen meat, that he had eaten in his life. His skin glowed from hot bathwater. Warm robes covered him. Smiling people surrounded him, chattering and asking him questions. He spoke to none of them until he had seized and chewed every scrap of food on his plate, and drank his ale to the dregs.
“Torthan! There you are!” called a booming voice. It sounded familiar, but Torthan could not find a source in the crowded room.
“Who asked me that?” he asked, standing.
“Over here!” said a fat man in the doorway, “Don’t you remember me, you old rascal?”
“Gerthi,” said Torthan, walking to him and embracing him as warmly as anyone else.
“Birk just told me that you've gotten everything except a history. What dreadful hosts we are!”
“Can we go into a separate room?”
“Absolutely.”
Everyone else cleared from the room, and whispered outside as the two old men spoke.
“When they took you,” said Gerthi, “The rebellion was crushed. Soldiers were everywhere. Only Birk and I are left. But we mourn no longer. We won! In the most unlikely way imaginable!”
“We won?”
“Yes! Now brace yourself. This part will be hard for you to hear. Haltha gave birth to a son when-”
“I know what they did!”
“Calm down, calm down. It’s all past. We can’t change what happened. But Torthan… her son is an angel. He so enchanted Lord Vengir that instead of casting him away as a bastard, he embraced him as his true son. He was still cruel to us, but he loved that boy. We were sure he would corrupt him. But he didn’t! I don’t think he could! The boy’s twenty years old, now, and the kindest, most virtuous man I’ve ever seen-“
“Lord Vengir is still in power.”
“Yes. He is. But Torthan, he’s at his last breath! Sickness has hobbled him, these past few years. He can barely manage his kingdom. He has his son and his lieutenant manage the kingdom jointly.”
“Casrad.”
“He’s powerless. If he crosses the will of Vengir’s son, Vengir hears about it. He hasn’t named his son as successor- and he doesn’t have to. The soldiers and the people shall see to it that Casrad never becomes king of Tulrasia.”
“You’re very sure about that.”
“Look around you! The battle is already won. Vengir’s son has given us luxury and freedom like we never dreamed. Everything we fought for is here. All we wait for now is the passing away of Lord Vengir. Let me get you another wine!”
Torthan looked out the window at the castle, as tall and grey and thick as it had been since the day he was born.
“You always shall endure…” he mumbled.
“What was that?” said Gerthi, raising a wineskin.
“Nothing,” said Torthan, “Nothing to you.”
He looked at the street, where rose-cheeked children played. They were thick; they were well-fed. He was watching a plump little girl run around with a ball when it happened. A war hound leapt out from nowhere and brought her to the ground. Torthan darted for the door. Pain bit at his back, and he stumbled on the chair. Cursing, he seized a staff and limped outside.
“Torthan! What are you doing?” said Gerthi, following and laughing, “Can’t you see it’s playing?”
The child laughed as the dog licked her face happily. Torthan froze in the doorway and watched. The pink tongue splashed on the child’s laughing cheeks, but all Torthan saw were the fangs. They were huge and white. Torthan’s scar twinged as the dog and the child ran off.
The crowd looked at him silently. Torthan’s face was locked in acute misery. When he saw his onlookers, his face twisted into a scowl. Gerthi stood behind him. Torthan seized his shirt collar and dragged him back into the cottage.
“Do you want to know where this came from?” said Torthan, pointing at the deep groove near his right eye.
“No,” said Gerthi, “I don’t. Torthan, my friend, you’re not the only one who suffered-“
“What do you mean to tell me? Did you suffer, Gerthi? Olm told me everything when they brought him in. You hid with the women and the children- and made some more children. Don’t tell me how horrible that was.”
“I married one of the women and I kept everybody safe! It wasn’t easy!”
“You weren’t with us at the start, Gerthi. You were a captain’s son. Don’t ever forget that. You sat in that castle day after day, stuffing your face on the same things you’re stuffing it with now. Outside, we suffered. I was born among the tribes. My mother died taking me, a helpless infant, through the freezing northern plains, just so I could live in a happy life in this great country Tulrasia we heard about down below. What a waste.”
“You told me this story long ago. Why don’t we sit down and have an ale? Birk makes excellent-“
“I’m not finished! Lord Vengir’s men found me in the snow, and found me a peasant home. It was the only kindness I ever got. Vengir made Tulrasia into his own special corner of hell. He had come to power by killing his elderly father, and blaming it on someone else. He put military law on his new country, and he never took it away. He made war on the northern tribes. He stole our food. He raped our women! There was not a wife, daughter, or sister safe from his ravaging embrace.”
“I know that, Torthan; I know all of that.”
“Then I met Haltha. She hadn’t been touched yet, and I couldn’t let her. I’d had enough! I killed a man who leered at her, and I took her away into the wild. I killed every solider that came near us. Vengir sent an army after me, but by then I had friends. We won the first battle. We got spies out, and we got you on our side soon after.”
“We both know how the story goes. It’s over now! Relax!”
“When they took me, we were at the height of our glory. We started raiding Vengir’s tax collectors, and as fear swept through Vengir and his men, I rode to summon the tribes. With their strength, we could have taken the only thing that still protected Vengir: his castle.”
“I know everything! Just stop!”
“Casrad betrayed me! He slunk into the castle and sold my plan for power with Vengir. It was sunset when Vengir and his men found me. Slowly, they set a circle round me. Men. And dogs. The dogs they held back. The men came up and shot me with arrows. When I couldn’t stand any longer, they beat me with sticks until I could no longer see the dying sun in the distance. Lord Vengir himself came up. He told me every last thing he did to my Haltha, my love. And then he loosed a dog on me.”
“What madness has come over you, Torthan? You aren’t the man I remember. There is venom in your tongue, now!”
“And there is nothing but poisoned honey in yours. Twenty years I rotted in Vengir’s jail, whipped and starved to nothing- and what welcome do I get from you? Complacency. Luxury. Blindness! Do you truly believe Lord Vengir will let your freedom drop into your mouth like roast meat? Has he suddenly stopped his raping and his scheming for the sake of one little bastard?”
“Torthan, that bastard is Haltha’s son!”
Torthan’s head lowered, and his eyes narrowed into slits.
“Don’t ever speak about Haltha to me again. Or her son.”
He took his hand from Gerthi’s throat as several soldiers ran into the cottage.
“We heard shouting,” said one, “Is anything wrong here?”
Torthan sized him up. He was thickset, and wore light chain-mail. A sword hung from his belt, and the hilt looked like it had rarely been touched. Torthan’s eye landed last upon the soldier’s nose. It had a curious tilt to it. Torthan’s scar twinged again.
“Why, no,” said Torthan, smiling, “I got a little overexcited. Twenty years of confinement is difficult to recover from in an hour, don’t you know? Give me a night to sleep and all will be well.”
“Very good,” said the thickset soldier, “Though while I stand here… there has been much injustice inflicted upon you by our predecessors. In their name, I would like to apologize.”
“There is little you can do about that,” said Torthan, still looking at the shape of the man’s nose, “But I am sure you will pay for it. Your father worked in the dungeons, did he not?”
The thickset soldier shifted uncomfortably.
“Yes. He did.”
“I’m sorry.”
The thickset soldier walked out with the others. Gerthi shut the door before anyone else could come in.
“I think I’m going to get some sleep,” said Torthan, “It has been two decades. I should like to see a nice bed. I don’t know any of these people outside.”
Gerthi showed him to a bedroom silently, and left the room. He avoided the crowd that pressed at him for details.
“I’ll talk to him in the morning,” he said when they proved persistent, “For now he needs some peace.”
He wrapped his fur cloak tight around himself, trying to squeeze out the possibility that Torthan was right about Lord Vengir.
***
There were only three sentries that night, and they all had been drinking.
“You’re joking, Grik,” said a skinny one.
“I’ll tell you the rest when I get back,” said Grik, the thickset soldier, walking to the privy shed.
“Can you believe that?” said the skinny man to the older one, “This Torthan must have gone mad in that dungeon. Those dogs are the gentlest beasts I’ve ever seen. They wouldn’t hurt a child if the child poked their eyes out.”
“Well, you’ve got to remember the old reign,” said the older man, “Back then, they bred dogs to hurt people. I’m not surprised the poor fellow got worked up. I wager he lost friends to those beasts.”
“Did you hear something?”
“Oh, yes. Grik always makes too much noise when he’s in the privy.”
“I can’t argue with that. Shut up in there, Grik! Now, this Torthan. It sounds like he did have a horrible time. I’m glad he got out.”
“So am I. We should visit him sometime, wherever he winds up living. He could tell us more about those days.”
“I’d welcome that,” said the skinny man as Grik fell out of the privy, “Captain never says anything about what happened back then.”
“Say, Grik, are you alright?” said the older man, walking to where Grik had fallen over.
The skinny man stood up to follow him, until a hand came out of the darkness and smothered him. The older man heard nothing, but he got alarmed when he came to Grik, who still had not moved. The older man moved to shut the privy door, holding his nose. As he touched the door, he let go of his nose and stared. The privy hole had been widened!
Before he noticed the marks on Grik’s throat, his own neck screamed with pain.
***
In the innermost chamber of the castle, an old man was sleeping. His wrinkles bunched and stretched, as he tossed and turned. His limbs trembled. It wasn’t long before he woke up, wheezing. He let out a harsh cough as he sat up all the way. Another dream! He strained to push himself off of the bed, and with an effort he reached for his chamber-pot beneath the bed.
One deafening crash later, he lay on the floor.
“You disappoint me, Lord Vengir,” rasped a voice, “After all of the brilliant plans you set, and the piercing agony you have made out of my people and my life, you now die because you let your guard down. It’s not the man I remember at all.”
“Torthan,” whispered Vengir, “I was a fool to let you go.”
“Old age catches up with us all,” said the voice, still in the shadows, “That’s at least one weapon of yours we no longer have to fear.”
“If you’re going to speak about my penis, come out of the darkness and speak to my face.”
“You don’t know how happy I am to hear you say that.”
Torthan limped out from the closet, holding a club with a knobbly end.
“I’d love to make this last much longer,” he hissed, “But I know your little lizard is still in this castle. I know better than to linger near Casrad. I’ll make this quick. And then I’ll make for the border, and this time I’ll get there. Remember that day? Did you love the sight of me bleeding on the ground, and your little pet gnawing my face off?”
“I remember it every day of my life.”
“You didn’t remember it enough. You threw me in hell, and jabbed salt in every cut on my body. You let me shrivel to a crust, for twenty long years. Now the hawk’s out of his cage. Do you like this feeling? This helplessness, as blood trickles down your chin? I’d bring one of your hounds to make it complete, but they’re too soft now. I’m going to the tribes. After all you’ve done to them, they’ll howl to follow me back here. This castle will burn to the ground!”
“If you come any closer to me, I’m going to defend myself. Torthan, there are many things I would tell you if you let me.”
Torthan stepped into the light from the window, raising the club and grinning.
“Lord Vengir, you can tell them to the devil.”
The door burst open, and soldiers rushed into the room. Immediately, Torthan launched into them with his club, and before a torch entered the room, three men were on the ground moaning. Torthan broke a hand, and as the man roared and dropped his dagger, Torthan seized it and plunged it into Vengir.
“Take this as a token of my love,” he snarled, and limped to the window. Cursing, he tried to vault out but tripped. Another few seconds of climbing and he was through the window and gone.
Vengir gasped in pain for a full minute; at last another man ran into the room.
“My lord!” said the man, shutting and locking the door behind him, “Where is your attacker!”
“Gone, Casrad, already gone! You were right. It was Torthan; you just missed him. He stabbed me here, in the shoulder; now he’s going to try to whip up the tribes.”
“Won’t he be in for a surprise!” said Casrad, crouching down, “After all the food and goods your son has given them, they’d never lift a finger against us.”
“You will call my boy home, so I can speak to him?”
“I'll bring him home. Don't you worry. Now let me see the wound. Let me see… oh. Oh dear. That won’t kill you. The blade went clean through your shoulder. There, there, let me take it out… there!”
“Ah! Thank you… thank you…”
“I must confess Torthan disappoints me. He should have borrowed a torch if he really wanted to kill you. Luckily, I'm here to finish what he started.”
Vengir’s eyes flared with surprise as Casrad cut his throat, and tossed the knife beside the club. Hastily he unlocked the door, just as the captain of the guard arrived there with a full company.
“Lieutenant Casrad! There’s three men dead on the walls! What’s happened?”
“Vengir is dead! Torthan himself has killed him! Captain, I want martial law declared immediately.”
“Is that your right to decide, sir?”
“We don't have have time to ask for sure! Torthan will go to the tribes now; I’m sure of it! Vengir’s son must have vengeance. Ask him to lead a search party while I keep order here.”
“He is inexperienced, sir. Are you sure?”
“He is a weakling, as I’ve always said. Now is his chance to prove himself to our people. Send word to him; he's in that little grotto he made for his mother!”
As the captain dashed away, Casrad looked at the corpse of his master and sneered. He gave it a little kick. He nearly danced a jig.
“I knew I was wise to let that maniac out of jail,” said Casrad to himself, “He’s played the whole kingdom into my hands. All that stand between me and the throne of Tulrasia is Vengir's son. He’ll go after Torthan. His noble little heart won’t have it any other way. If he does find Torthan, he’ll be gutted like a fish. And if he doesn’t find him, I’ll be ready for him when he gets back.”
***
By the time Vengir's son had even learned what had happened, Torthan was well past the northern border. The sentries were young and careless. Killing them had been far too easy. Torthan had hung them from a tree before setting out into the barren plains beyond his home.
At last. Two long decades he had endured, and now he roamed free, and victorious already.
"It's only a matter of time," he muttered as the wind howled, "There are camps all over this place. And all I need is one. Then it begins. Such an irony. After all these years of blood and agony, it shall be the barbarian tribes that will bring justice. Gerthi had his chance! If he falls, there'll be no saving him. Or Casrad. Oh, I'll castrate him myself. Ha! Castrate Casrad! Castrate Casrad! A nursery rhyme!"
Thus he was found by ten horsemen: cackling, and hunched over with mirth. Torthan went into their arms willingly, but it was no crude pile of huts they took him to. It was an orderly village, built of thick wooden logs.
"A fine abode for fine warriors," Torthan said loudly.
"Your thanks is welcome," said one of them civilly, "Would you follow us to the Elders?"
Even before Torthan had been cast in his dungeon, he had dreamed of this meeting. Stories upon stories he had memorized of the mighty Elders. Each one had killed more men in battle than the rest of the tribesmen. They wore heavy stone plates to show their people that they were strong, fearless, and alien to pain and defeat.
"Good day," said one of them warmly when Torthan walked in, "Welcome to our proud village. What brings you here?"
Whatever the wizened old man was wearing, it was definitely not stone. He and five others, even more wrinkled than he, sat in a circle. They sipped from steaming goblets.
"W-where have you gotten all this?" said Torthan.
"Why, from Lord Vengir's son!" said one of them, who to Torthan's mortification was a woman, "He sent men to us, and wood. They have built these wondrous homes, and taught us how to farm well. We have had no need of fighting for years."
"That is..." said Torthan slowly, "Good to hear."
The Elders looked at him curiously. A silence grew that intensified when the woman poured a vial of honey into her goblet and stirred it in.
"I thought," said the first Elder, "That you had come to us with information. The patrolmen told us that you called it important."
"Ah, yes," said Torthan, “More important, perhaps, than anything you have known in your life.”
The Elders looked at each other, uncomfortable.
“What would you tell us, stranger?” said another Elder, “What is your name?”
“Great Elders,” said Torthan, holding back his contempt, “I am the man who has spent twenty years in the darkest holes known to man. I am the man who has lost everything he loves. I am the man who has been torn in the flesh and the bone and the spirit by the cruelest of tyrants. I am Torthan!”
“Torthan?” said one of the Elders, “Why… yes. It’s true! Torthan! You have come at last! Where have you been?”
Torthan launced eagerly into his story. The Elders sat stiffly as his rants grew louder and louder. It was the same story Torthan had told to Gerthi. At the end, he tore his shirt off, revealing a hideous explosion of scars on his chest.
“Torthan, clothe yourself this instant,” said the woman indignantly, “Calm yourself down, and hear this. Even if you had reached our people, all those years ago, it would have been to no avail. Even united, we could not have invaded. It was all we could do to keep Vengir’s men out of our own lands. Why is there anger in your voice? Is the battle not already won?”
“No,” said Torthan, who did not put his shirt back on, “It has only just begun. Vengir raped my love. And then let her die. And then shoved me in his foulest jail and kept me there for twenty years. A few days ago, he let me out: the last mistake he ever made. I slew him. He will never trouble your lands again.”
The Elders stared.
“Murderer,” said one of them, pointing his finger.
“Why do you call me that?” said Torthan angrily, “Call me instead the judge. The conqueror. The hero! Join with me, and let us invade him at last while his troops are still confused! Casrad is still alive! He will contest with Vengir’s son for power! There could even be civil war! Join with me! Call out your troops!”
“It was Vengir’s son who brought us to our happiness today!” cried the thickest Elder, standing up, “We will not drown him in war based on the ravings of a madman!”
“Madman, do you call me?” roared Torthan.
“Madman! Murderer! Traitor!” shrieked the woman, “Guards! Guards!”
Torthan seized the nearest oil lamp he could find and threw it in their midst. As the Elders fled the tent in terror, Torthan ran into the midst of the village and leapt on a black horse.
“You’ll regret this!” roared Torthan, as the tent behind him erupted in flame, “Casrad will eat you all alive! Do you think your days of sunshine will carry on? Vengir is dead! Casrad is coming!”
***
The horse he left behind, several miles from the village. For two weeks, Torthan fled on foot, and terrorized the people. He robbed travelers. He stole from farms. He hid in piles of manure. One day he hid in a little river, and watched the peasant women wash their clothes and prattle about how the whole countryside lived in fear of him.
"Vengir's son himself is here," said one of them, "Leading a full company of troops; he’s taking this into his own hands, and no mistake."
“What about the lieutenant?” said another, “Doesn’t he usually handle matters like this?”
“Apparently, he went up and made a big speech about how Vengir’s son insisted on going alone.”
“Whatever makes them happy, I suppose. I won’t argue with them. I mean, one little fugitive can’t do much harm.”
Smiling, Torthan rose from the water.
"You're not scared of me," he said, leering like an old satyr, "Are you? I confess myself rather ugly, but that's not why you have that look on your face."
He took out his dagger and circled the women so they could not escape.
"No, you're not scared of me,” said Torthan idly, playing with his knife, “You're scared of what I bring with me. You had a pinch in your bellies as little girls, I wager. Hard times those were. Starving times. You don't want to feel that again, do you? That's why I'm so dangerous. I came to this land for war. You don't want that! Your little boys might get hurt! Well, I'll be nice to you. Finish your laundry. Make your dinner! What are you eating tonight? Hot bread? Soft cheese? Warm milk? Enjoy every minute of it. Casrad will take it when he gets the chance. If were you, I’d run while I still had the chance. I’d run as fast as I could. I’d drown your children so they don’t see what he’ll do when he catches you.”
The women did not say a word as Torthan circled back around them, blew a kiss and a sneer, and slid back into the water.
By the time he had swam past the great farms that surrounded the women's village, he knew that his scent was gone. No dog could catch him now. Torthan couldn't resist a little chuckle as he floated. Eventually, he grew exhausted. He sunk for a minute, but he flailed desperately and got to shore somehow. Wearily he continued on foot.
The further north he went, the colder it got. There were no people among these bare frozen hills.
“Not yet,” growled Torthan, “Not yet!”
His back howled with pain, and Torthan fell over at last. With a growl, he stood up and slogged on. His back still hurt. Every step pushed a claw further into his back, but he did not slow or waver. He had read the maps as a young man. There were tribes around here somewhere, and he would find them if he had to travel all the way to the ends of the earth. Stubbornly he stepped deeper into the cold, though it was clear there had been no tribes here for a long time.
At length he stumbled upon a group of brigands, who took him in when they found out that he was a fugitive from the law. They travelled in a rotting, rickety carriage from the glory days. Before Vengir had come to power, power had been in the hands of the brigands. The carriage was one of the last remnants of the things they had stolen. It bounced like a grasshopper as Torthan spoke with the men.
"Tell us where you came from!" said one of the brigands, spitting, "It's a long way to the Firehouse, and we could use a good story."
Torthan licked his lips and launched into his story. It was an exceptional performance. He howled like a wolf, and bared his fangs like one. The brigands listened, transfixed, until they came to the Firehouse.
Torthan knew precisely what this place was, and from the moment he stepped inside it he knew precisely what he would do. As harlots moaned in the shadows, their madam peered at Torthan.
"You look like you're getting on in years," she said, sucking her fat lips, "Are you sure you can handle one of my girls?"
"Only one way to find out," said Torthan.
Two girls later, he emerged from the shadowy rooms, and sprang into the drinking room. The stench of bad beer was like swamp gas, and the men that lay back in their chairs were no match for Torthan’s blazing words. He mounted the bar and surveyed all the chairs sprawled before him like a goblin king. His eyes hypnotized them.
Once more he told his story.
“They have all betrayed the cause!” he finished, waving his arms, “They have all bowed to the yoke of Casrad! At this very moment, he could be bringing the chains of tyranny back on this land. What do you think will happen to you?! Casrad’s men will shut you down for good! Are you going to sit here and let them?”
One man, eyes glazed, stood up. He stumbled, and rose again.
“No!” he roared like a bull.
The whole drinking room became a hurricane of open mouths, and closed fists. Mugs hit the wall and shattered. The madam poked her head in the room, terrified.
“Tommorrow morning,” announced Torthan loudly, “I’m riding out against all of them. We’ll take the tribes first. They’re soft and rich, and easy for the plucking. Their women are prettier than the best whore in this Firehouse! And when we get their soldiers on our side, Casrad won’t know what hit him! Who’s with me?”
Now all the harlots poked their heads through the door, as the men screamed like wildcats, and pounded each other on the back. Slowly, the harlots backed off as the men drunkenly fumbled for their weapons.
Torthan retreated soon after. One of the faces poking through the door had caught his eye.
“My sweet,” he said a few hours later, as the full moon poked through the moth-eaten hole in the roof, “You’re luckier than you know.”
“How’s that?” whispered the harlot, a squirrely, nervous-looking girl.
“Tommorrow morning,” said Torthan, “You shall be a queen.”
He rose from the bed. As his feet hit the floor, his back spasmed with pain, and he pretended to fumble for his clothes. He stood up and faced the harlot.
“You heard the little chat I had with your friends, yes?”
“Yes!”
“This night has proven our victory. What’s your name?”
“Ealia.”
“Ealia! Ealia the enchantress! Your chestnut hair has ensnared me this night. When we ride on the morrow, you shall ride with me. You shall wear a crown of iron, of silver, of gold- of anything you wish!”
“Diamonds?”
“Diamonds.”
“Pure diamonds?”
“Pure as the words I speak to you now. Ealia, when we overrun Casrad, and thrown down his tyranny once and for all, you shall the queen of a New Age. All shall bow at your feet. You shall never feel hunger or fear again! You shall laugh at their names! Queen Ealia! Will you be mine?”
Ealia beamed as Torthan knelt and swept open his arms.
“Mighty Torthan,” she said, “I accept.”
She dove into his arms.
“All my life,” she sniffed, “People have run me this way and that. I was born in this cold. I was beaten in this cold. I was sold here in this cold. I hate this cold!”
“My sweet,” he said, “This night I have lit a fire that will take all your cold away. Forever!”
***
Ealia woke up feeling happier than she ever had in her life. Today was the day! She practically flew from the bed, and looked to the other side.
The bed was empty. Ealia had lived a life full of oppression and lies, but it never occurred to her what had happened until the door caved in, and several brigands burst in with the splinters.
“Where is he?” they snarled.
Ealia blinked, trying to keep the tears back.
“Tell us quick!” barked the skinniest one, walking forward, “There’s a price on his head, and if you help us win it we’ll share with you!”
Like a stringless puppet, the girl fell to the floor.
***
Torthan gave the soldiers the slip easily. Just like before. He wanted to run back and strangle every one of them, but there were too many. Their shiny helmets massed before the Firehouse like an army besieging a castle.
“I’ll get them!” he spat to himself, ‘There’s still time! There’s more allies roving in these hills… I just have to find them… yes, I’ll find them…”
He talked to himself more than he ever had, even in the depths of the dungeon.
“Of course they betrayed me! Teaches me to trust traitors!”
Then was the first time he stumbled, and took a real effort to get back up. The icy ground bit like a wolf.
“Tripping on myself. Musn’t get too eager.”
He stumbled again an hour later. Now he could not deny that his limbs felt a little funny. He stood up and looked at the perfectly cloudy sky.
“Should have been sleeping instead of rolling around with that little bitch. I’m too tired to keep one foot in front of the other!”
It was not lack of sleep, and he sensed it long before he was willing to say it. Torthan did not understand until he collapsed again, and threw out his arms. The elbows hit first, and then the forearms. Torthan’s wrist burned savagely. The old man turned his arm around and saw a jagged gash, crusted with blood.
“That was it,” murmured Torthan.
Last night, in between orgies with Ealia, he had caroused with his new followers, and guzzled whisky that the madam had brought in. He had drawn his sword. So had a man who had been drunk even before the whisky. The sword… it had looked rather rusty… it had been stained!
Torthan had had a poisoned wound all night.
“The bastards set a trap,” said Torthan, “They knew I was coming. They poisoned the sword and set up the whole party; they cheered for me and paid for my beer and my girls- just so they could weaken me and sell me for a few coins!”
It gave fresh fire to his steps. He almost forgot the simmering pain in his wrist. On and on he tramped, through the snow that was finally coming down in earnest. Brittle dark grass crunched like bones beneath him. The more he thought of feeding Casrad to Vengir’s dogs, the harder he stamped on the grass.
Then he fell for the third time. Torthan got up, face sore from hitting the earth. He realized he had just climbed to the top of a thick hill. He took a moment to survey the landscape. Green spread around him, but was streaked with white. Winter was coming.
“You!” cried a voice.
Torthan looked at the bottom of the hill. A cloaked figure stood there.
“You!” said Torthan, “By your girlish voice, I trust I am the elder here. Who are you?”
“Someone who wants to take you to redemption.”
“Redemption through what? Branding irons? Bone-studded whips? I know what you’re here for, you fool. What makes you think I'll willingly come with you?"
"Because Gerthi told me everything about you, Torthan. I know that you loved my mother. I know that I should have been your son. And I'm walking up this hill, and I-I’m bringing you to the proper authorities."
Torthan stared as Vengir’s son threw off his hood and walked slowly up the hill. Nothing in that barren land was as chilled as Torthan’s breath, as the boy’s features became clear. He had a smooth face. Smooth and round as an apple. Just like Haltha. He had a little crook in his nose. Just like Vengir. A rapier dangled from his hip.
“You must understand,” said the boy as he reached the top, “I don’t want to hurt you. That’s why I followed you myself.”
“How did you find me?”
“I’ve been able to see you for quite a while. You keep falling over. Can I help you?”
“You tracked me to the Firehouse.”
“Lieutenant Casrad told me we might find you there.”
“Did he, now? I bet he didn’t tell you that it’s where he came from in the first place. We became good friends when he ran out of brigands to con, and he snuck into Tulrasia to find a new victim. He found me. He was my lieutenant. See how well he served me, boy? Look at this scar. Do you want to know where it came from?”
“I don’t need to. Vengir told me everything. He felt grief before you killed him.”
“What do you know of grief, boy? I’ve been told everything about you. Vengir was so taken by your rosy cheeks that he threw you in a bed of goose down. He stuffed you with milk and sweetmeats, and you responded with all the credit of a hungry dog. Is that why they call you virtuous? You never had to bleed for all those nice things you did.”
“Perhaps not… but I’m ready to bleed! If I have to!”
“You can say that all you like, boy, but I’m the one with the scars.”
“I’m sorry you were hurt so badly.”
Torthan wheezed with laughter.
“No you’re not! You’re just terrified! You’re nothing like I thought you’d be! You’re even better! You’re the worst of them all! Did you seriously think you were going to chase after me and make me feel so guilty I’d come with you? Like a lame deer?”
“I… I… yes!”
“Then you had better learn how to live like a wolf! It’s Casrad who sent you out here! Do you think he’s picking flowers while you’re gone? He’ll lay down martial law, just like Vengir did when he came into power. Casrad’s fooled you, just as he fooled me. If you really care about justice, you had better join up with me. Help me stop him.”
“I will do many things, sir, but joining you isn’t one of them.”
“Your nobility is touching, but it won't touch Casrad. He's wanted power long before you were alive, and he'll want it a long time after you’re gone. Mark my words, boy. He’ll kill you if you go back. The villagers won’t suspect anything. You just fell off the tower by accident.”
“You’re bluffing for time-”
“- and I’m doing it with the truth.”
“I won’t join you! That poor woman you exploited last night- she hanged herself when she learned you abandoned her.”
“Keep talking like that and I’ll kill you, bastard. If you draw that little toy of yours, I‘ll draw mine, and you’ll find out the hard way that I can wield a sword better than you. You’ve never even killed a frog with that thing, have you?”
“I’ll still stand up to you.”
“No you won’t. You don’t have the backbone to kill a man. That’s why you need me. If you don’t take my help, I might as well kill you here and now, because Casrad will show no mercy. Who will help you if not me? Gerthi won’t help. He won’t have a clue until it’s too late. The tribes are the same way. The brigands? You saw their greed for yourself. Only I can help you keep the freedom you’ve restored.”
“You’re lying to me! A criminal would say anything!”
“But I’m not saying just anything, am I? How much of a criminal am I if the biggest sin is letting justice go undone? I’m the only one who knows Casrad’s threat. I’m the only one who will help you stop him.”
“Then- then I stand alone!”
“And you won’t stand for long! I’m done with all this talking. Are you going to make me come, or are you going to keep braying like an ass and watch me walk away?”
“You are a murderer and a fugitive. Y-you must be brought to authority.”
Torthan smiled. It was the biggest, toothiest grin Vengir’s son had ever seen in his life. It only grew wider and brighter as Torthan drew his sword. Vengir’s son drew out his rapier, and it shook in his hands.
“And which authority might that be?” said Torthan, raising the blade.
“The truth which my mother died for!”
All of Torthan’s world went silent, and then exploded with rage. Howling, Torthan launched into the boy and rained down his blade until the boy’s hesitant strokes gave way, and red blood flooded onto the snow. Torthan stabbed down again and again until Vengir’s son fell on the ground. When he could move no longer, he threw out his limbs and took the hits like a slug. His blue eyes pierced like diamonds, even as their life ebbed away.
Torthan breathed heavily. His tongue hung out like a dog. His teeth showed again, and a little laugh crawled from between them. It got louder and louder. Torthan finally lifted his sword in the air and crowed. He sung out a battle-cry.
“Is this your best?” cried out Torthan to the silent horizon, “Is this the best you can send me? I’ll kill you. I’ll kill you all! I will roll into your homes with fire, with lightning! All your happy world will burn! Burn! Burn to the ground, and I will defile the ashes and cast them to the cruel winds! Your babes shall be food for jackals! Your sons the sport of crows! Long will you rue the things you've done to me!”
He could not forget the boy’s piercing blue eyes. Torthan reached down in a fury to pluck them and crush them into jelly. Right after his fingers bended into claws to do it, they froze. Torthan stared at the helpless figure. The boy’s face was locked in fear and agony.
And yet the boy had never screamed once.
Torthan fled down the hilltop. He slipped on the thin snow halfway through, and by the time he hit the bottom more flakes were coming down. He felt weaker than ever before. He remembered the scar.
“Mother…”
He said it at last. The word had torn at him for years, decades, from the day he had begun his fight against Vengir’s regime, and he had never said it until now. It was a sign of weakness. And he had proved strong, and not uttered it once through the battles, and the betrayals, and the torture, and the pain…
“Mother…”
It was a cry for help, and the moment Torthan realized it he began to weep. He looked to the top of the hill like a starving man. He tried his best to climb up, but at last he lost strength and rolled back down. Every time his body bounced on the rock-hard ground, it grew evermore clear. There had been poison in the drunk man’s sword. Torthan was going to die.
“Mother, mother, no!” howled Torthan, feebly tearing at the ground. He could feel the warm memories coming back, and that old song she had always sung when he was a child.
You always shall endure…
Torthan managed to lift himself until he could get to his knees. His legs refused to go higher than that. Snarling, Torthan came back to earth.
When all your foes they come…
Torthan gorged himself on the thoughts. He had had to kill the boy. He was a danger to others, even more than to himself. Casrad would have used him to finish what Vengir had started. He would have!
Hold fast to strength and wrath…
Torthan clapped his ears, as if there was a physical voice in the air. He could feel the fingers of the memory close on his heart, and he resisted with all his might. But it soon held him fast, and he could not look away. The warm firelight. The soft arms. The smiling face. The comforting voice! Oh, those words! Make them stop! Make them stop!
And victory is yours…
“I’ll still beat them,” said Torthan with an effort (his throat felt funny). When he pushed with his arms, he could barely do more than raise his chest from the ground.
Hold fast, hold fast, my son…
Torthan began to cry again. No! Not like this!
Though giants do close in…
He saw a band of soldiers in the distance.
“I’m saved,” whispered Torthan, shaking from the poison, “They’ll take me in and heal me; they’ll want me healthy and alive for Casrad’s whips. I know how to break out from his dungeons. The revolution will happen at last!”
He summoned all his breath. His chest pumped like a bellows. He roared at the top of his lungs. All that came out was a croak. Panicked, Torthan tried to get up. He could not speak loud enough for the soldiers to hear. Whimpering, he flung out his hands.
“Help! Mercy! Mercy!” he croaked as the soldiers marched further away.
The gods will see and cheer…
He lay on the ground, and that took almost all of the energy he had left. Spitting and scowling, he cursed every man he had ever known. He cursed Vengir. He cursed Casrad. He cursed Gerthi, and the Elders, and all the fools that had gotten in his way. At last, he looked to the top of the hill, and the piercing blue eyes tortured his memory. He cursed Vengir’s son worst of all.
… when you die by the sword.
Torthan threw his fist at the sky, raging and sobbing with his last few breaths.
###
About the Author
Sean McGuire is a man without a hometown, and a man who has a story to tell, just like you. Right now he is an undergraduate at Benedictine College. When he's not studying literature, he's trying to create it.
He also blogs about storytelling, and keeps his fans updated on new material. His next project is The Kingdom: The Quest, first volume of The Kingdom Trilogy. This fantasy adventure is coming to Smashwords on October 20, 2011.
Contact the Author
Official Website for The Kingdom Trilogy (http://thekingdomtrilogy.wordpress.com/)
Official Twitter Account of The Kingdom Trilogy and its author (http://twitter.com/#!/TheKingdomBooks)
Official Smashwords Page (https://www.smashwords.com/profile/view/seanmcguire)